


Someday

by grumpybell



Series: Can't Help But Be Scared of It All Sometimes [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Sequel, kabby wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 23:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12736857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpybell/pseuds/grumpybell
Summary: “Bell?”“Hmm?” He's doing the world jumble, bottom lip trapped between his teeth.“I have to tell you something,” she says awkwardly, tugging at the sleeves of her sweatshirt. Bellamy looks up sharply at that, his eyes scanning over her, sticking at her stomach. She realizes, suddenly, what this conversation probably sounds like to him.“Oh, no, it's not-” Clarke gestures at herself wordlessly, flustered by his reaction. “I just, um, I haven't actually told my mom our engagement was fake.”ORBellamy and Clarke attend Kabby's wedding and resume their fake engagement.*Follow up fic to A Little Bit of Something (God It's Better Than Nothing)





	Someday

The thing about Clarke's fake relationship turned real relationship with Bellamy is that she's never actually gotten around to coming clean to her mother about it. They'd told Abby they planned on a long engagement way back when they'd made up the engagement story in the first place, and that's made putting off telling her mom she's not actually engaged a lot easier. Particularly when she has to explain that she'd definitely marry Bellamy in a heartbeat, if he asked.

She also hasn't gotten around to telling Bellamy her mother still doesn't know. It hasn't been difficult. They're all extremely busy people, and the two times she's seen her mother since her engagement party Bellamy hadn't been available; she'd worn the ring once, and told Abby that Bellamy was having it resized the second. She'd always intended to tell her mother eventually. It's just... Well, it's quite frankly a really embarrassing story.

The problem is, it's now only three days before her mother's wedding, and neither Abby nor Bellamy know the full story. So she's a bit backed into a corner at this point. She waits until she's finished packing for the wedding, and Bellamy's had time to have a cup of coffee and do the crossword in the paper (she swears he's secretly sixty years old), before she wanders into the kitchen, apprehensive.

“Bell?”

“Hmm?” He's doing the world jumble, bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

“I have to tell you something,” she says awkwardly, tugging at the sleeves of her sweatshirt. Bellamy looks up sharply at that, his eyes scanning over her, sticking at her stomach. She realizes, suddenly, what this conversation probably sounds like to him.

“Oh, no, it's not-” Clarke gestures at herself wordlessly, flustered by his reaction. “I just, um, I haven't actually told my mom our engagement was fake.”

The news settles on Bellamy's face, an understanding, and something that could either be relief or disappointment.

“And you can't exactly tell her at her wedding,” Bellamy extrapolates.

“Right.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, all fond exasperation. “I'll go get the ring.”

 

* * *

 

 

Abby's having her wedding in Canada, at one of those venues that uses the term “rustic,” but costs an arm and a leg. Bellamy drives, while Clarke dozes in the passenger seat, Bellamy's mother's ring on her finger. It fits better than the last time she wore it. Clarke had smiled to herself, but not said anything when she realized he'd had it sized. She wonders when he did it.

She thinks about what he'd told her mom, all those months ago, when she'd questioned the quick nature of their “engagement”, _six months, but only because it took me a year to get to notice I was interested_. She wonders if all that was true. Clarke knows, because he and all their friends had repeatedly told her, that Bellamy had wanted to date her long before she became aware of it, but he'd never said how long.

They've been together, for real, for nearly a year now. And that's not long, not by most people's standards, but Clarke's sure, with a calm sort of certainty, that Bellamy's who she wants to spend her life with. She's ready whenever he is.

It's a slow trip, due to the snow and ice that blankets everything outside of the car, turning the world bright and dreamlike. The wedding is going to be beautiful, Clarke's sure, and quite possibly very cold. The ceremony is being held indoors, in front of floor to ceiling windows that provide a stunning view of snow capped mountains and a frozen lake. Abby had sent Clarke a lengthy email with dozens of attached photos, detailing the specifics of the wedding.

So, the ceremony should be comfortable. The reception, however, Clarke's less sure about. Abby has commissioned tents down by the lake, which she says will be heated, complete with a full sized dance floor and the opportunity to skate on the lake. It'll look stunning, if nothing else. Clarke can't imagine how much time or money has gone into the whole thing. It's not something she would want, but she hopes it makes her mother happy.

By the time they get to the lodge, check in, and lug their suitcases up to the room, Clarke's only got about ten minutes before she has to meet her mother to go over the itinerary for the weekend. As part of the wedding party, Clarke's time is significantly more booked than Bellamy's. She watches in envy as he collapses face first onto the big queen sized bed in their room.

“This is so unfair,” she whines, glaring at him in the mirror, as she tries to wrestle her hair into something that at least resembles an actual hairstyle. Bellamy turns his head to watch her, eyelids drooping.

“I drove, I deserve the nap.”

“You don't have to rub it in,” Clarke tells him, touching up her lipstick. Bellamy sits up, legs dangling off the bed, and reaches for her hand, turning her around.

“Hey,” he says, pulling her toward him. “Everything is gonna be fine this weekend. Your mom is going to be way too busy to bring up any of the usual topics. Just don't trip walking down the aisle or anything and you'll be golden.”

Clarke shoves at his shoulder, and he grasps her around the waist before she can dance away, dragging her down to the bed in a tangle of limbs.

“Bell, I _just_ did my hair!” Clarke complains, trying to contain her laughter and keep her voice stern when he traps her under his weight, nose pressed under her jaw.

“Mhm,” he acknowledges, kissing her and smearing her lipstick. He's such a pain in the ass, and she loves him. Clarke kisses him for several moments, before shoving him off.

“I'm going to be late now,” she tells him, trying to glare. It doesn't really work. The tension in shoulders and neck has eased, and even though she _is_ going to be late, she feels more relaxed than she did five minutes ago. Bellamy always seems to know when Clarke needs a moment of distraction to keep her from spiraling. She's happy for her mother, she really is, but seeing her is often a stressful event and old habits die hard.

“You're always late to see your mom.” His mouth is red with her lipstick and he's got a smug grin plastered across his face. He's not wrong, but Clarke makes sure to elbow him when she climbs off the bed and back to the mirror to fix her now ruined hair and lipstick.

“I hate you,” she says mildly, when she can't get her hair to cooperate and instead scrapes it back into her best attempt at an elegant updo.

Bellamy only laughs.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, Clarke, there you are!” She's fifteen minutes late to the meeting Abby had set up for the wedding party, but for once Abby seems too distracted to reprimand her. She waves Clarke over to the table.

“We were just going over the arrangement of the bridesmaids and groomsmen.” Abby puts a manicured hand on the shoulder of a young man with brown hair and green eyes. “This is Matt, Marcus' nephew. He'll be escorting you down the aisle.”

Clarke nods, and slides into a free chair. She would have preferred getting to walk with someone she knows, but this is the sort of thing you keep your mouth shut about. It's Abby's wedding, she'll do what her mother wants for once.

The meeting lasts another thirty minutes, and Abby pulls her aside at the end, giving her a quick hug.

“I was afraid you wouldn't make it with all the fresh snow,” her mother tells her.

“It was slow, but Bellamy's a good driver.”

“How is Bellamy?”

“Napping.” And some of her annoyance must show in her voice, because Abby grins, and pats her on the shoulder.

“There are still four hours before the rehearsal dinner, I'm sure you can squeeze some rest in there.”

Clarke nods, and she notices her mother is twisting her hands together, the way she does when she's under strain.

“Everything is going to be beautiful, Mom.”

Abby's smile softens. “Thanks, Clarke. Do you have any news on the wedding planning front?”

Clarke shifts uncomfortably. “I don't know, Mom. Bellamy's in the middle of his PHD and I still have at least another year of school. It just doesn't seem like the best time to be planning a wedding.”

“That's life, Clarke. I'm not trying to rush you, but you two have been engaged for a year now, it seems like it's about time to at least start thinking of the logistics. It takes time to plan a wedding, you know. Maybe a spring ceremony, after you graduate next year.”

And this is the hard part, because that actually sounds fantastic to Clarke. She's not like her mother, she wants a wedding she can have outside, small, with all their friends, something simple and easy.

“I'll think about it, Mom,” Clarke manages, as if she hasn't been thinking about it all too much for someone who isn't actually engaged. She'd told Bellamy she never wants to plan a wedding, after all the work the watched go into her mother's, but here she is, mentally doing it anyway.

Abby gives her another quick hug. “Go take your nap. I'll see you tonight. And do try to be on time, okay?”

  

Bellamy doesn't attend the rehearsal, not being part of the wedding party, but Clarke drags him down for the dinner. He looks stupidly good in a suit; Clarke wouldn't have guessed that would be a thing for her, but it definitely is. He's also wearing glasses, which he's only had a short time, ever since Clarke finally managed to bully him into seeing an optometrist. Bellamy wearing glasses is also a thing for her. Basically, she's coming to realize, that's just Bellamy in general.

Despite a brief and entirely unplanned make out session in a corner halfway to dinner, they do manage to arrive on time, much to Clarke's (and probably Abby's) relief. She's also given in and is wearing a black embroidered sheath dress her mother bought for her birthday two years ago. It's not particularly comfortable and probably costs more than several months of Clarke's rent, but she has to admit, she looks great in it. And Bellamy seems to agree, if his lingering gaze is anything to go by.

“Bellamy,” Abby calls in greeting, noticing them, and he seems mildly alarmed, at her pleased tone. Clarke has to disguise her laughter as a cough when her mother hugs him. They'd gotten along well the last time they'd seen each other, but Bellamy and Abby's history hadn't been good. She supposes it must be disconcerting, to now inspire her mother's warmth.

Marcus is at her mother's side, a small smile on his lips. He offers Bellamy a handshake and Clarke a hug, in which she suddenly understands how Bellamy must have felt. She likes Marcus, but the majority of the time she's known him he's been a distant acquaintance, someone her mother works with. Thinking of him as her stepfather is going to take some work.

Dinner itself is easy, since everyone is busy eating, and Clarke is able to avoid making eye contact with anyone she really dreads speaking to. The worst part of Abby's wedding has to be the guest list. Sure, her mom has some cool friends, like Callie, but she also invited a lot of influential and not so cool donors. Clarke's been avoiding Diana Sydney like the plague.

The post dinner reception makes avoiding small talk harder. She makes it through three stilted conversations about her art minor before she apologetically ditches Bellamy to escape to the bathroom to “freshen up” her makeup. It's a welcome reprieve. Clarke grew up around these people, or people like them, but that somehow doesn't make it any easier. And she doesn't belong in their world, not really, not with her uninspiring major and her lack of political or business aspirations. She dawdles in the bathroom, dabbing at her perfect lipstick.

Clarke gets back to the reception hall just in time to watch her mother smoothly rescue Bellamy from the clutches of Arlene McKinney, who appears to have had a little too much to drink. She nearly laughs at the relief on Bellamy's face, and begins to make her way toward them, but stops when she notices Abby pull Bellamy slightly out of the crowd.

It's not eavesdropping, Clarke reasons. Bellamy will tell her if she asks anyway. That's what she uses to justify sidling up behind them, hanging back by a group of alcoved tables. She can only just catch the threads of their conversation. She's at an angle, but she can see that Bellamy's smiling, that smooth, comfortable smile he seems to be able to charm anyone he wants with.

“I hope I'm not going to have to wait until I'm old a gray before I get my first grandchild,” Abby is teasing. Her hand lands on Bellamy's arm. Clarke expects to see him flinch, or shift uncomfortably, but he doesn't even blink, and his smile grows just a little warmer.

“Clarke and I haven't discussed it, I'm afraid. I don't even know she wants children.”

“But you do?”

Bellamy doesn't hesitate. “Yeah. I'd like more than one.” He pats Abby's hand conspiratorially. “But it's not my body that has to go through pregnancy, so it'll be up to Clarke.”

“You'll be a good father, Bellamy,” Abby smiles, and Clarke steps back into the shadows where she can no longer see or hear them, wiping at the tears that have gathered at the corners of her eyes. It's overwhelming, to hear those words from Bellamy's mouth, even if it is good feeling. She's spent all day dreaming about her future with Bellamy; it's a lot to hear his own thoughts on the subject. She honestly hasn't thought about kids, not really, but... she can't imagine Bellamy never being a father. Her mother's right, he'll be a great one. Just, not yet. Clarke certainly isn't _there_ yet. Abby will just have to be patient.

Clarke takes a deep steadying breath. All this wedding stuff has her overemotional, and she mentally scolds herself for letting it get to her. She makes a lap of the room so she can make an obvious approach to her mother and Bellamy, one that won't reek of eavesdropping. She _wasn't_.

She nestles into his side when she gets there, and accepts the glass of wine he passes her. Abby gives her shoulder a squeeze and drifts off to engage Tor Lemkin in conversation.

“Done hiding in bathrooms?” Bellamy murmurs into her ear.

“For the time being. You better hope the Wallaces don't show up. I'll never come out.”

“I can't believe you'd leave me to fight them off myself!” his voice is mock offended.

“Sorry,” Clarke shrugs and gives him a sly smile. “My loyalty only stretches so far.”

Bellamy snorts, and squeezes her hip. “Noted.”

And it feels good to banter with him, to put engagements and wedding and babies out of her mind. This is good, right here, she thinks, and she needs to stop dwelling on what might be. They'll get there eventually.

 

* * *

 

 

As expected (and meticulously planned), the wedding ceremony is nothing short of glorious. And for once, Clarke forgets about all Abby's need to control; she forgets that her mother spent thirty minutes making sure Clarke's dress didn't have a single wrinkle, because the moment Abby steps out onto the aisle, she _glows_.

Clarke's seen her mother happy, but she's never seen her like _this_. And for all their differences, Clarke loves her mom, so if she tears up a little, who can blame her? It's hard to take her eyes off her mother, but when she does she meets Bellamy's eyes in the crowd, and she wishes he was standing up here, a comforting hand to hold, something to stabilize her in the overwhelming rush of emotion.

For all its glamour, the ceremony is sincere, and the way Abby and Marcus look at each other is almost too much for Clarke to watch. It's good, it's _so_ good, but it also reminds Clarke a little of how her parents used to look at each other when she was young, and she misses that. Watching her mother, happy and in love, marrying someone else, it's bittersweet.

The vows are a blur for Clarke, and before she knows it, her mother and Marcus are exchanging rings, and a kiss, and the guests are cheering. She takes Matt's arm when he arrives to escort her back down the aisle and follows in a daze. Her mother just got married.

Abby is out in the hall, and she pulls Clarke into a hug before the photographer can usher them out for photos.

“It was beautiful, Mom,” Clarke tells her earnestly.

Her mother wraps an arm around Clarke's waist, softer than Clarke remembers her being. “It was perfect,” she agrees. “And yours will be too.”

 

She catches up with Bellamy at the reception, relieved when he tucks her under his arm and plants a kiss on the side of her head. He's her rock on this whirlwind of a day.

“How much do you think all this cost?” he asks, quietly, gesturing at a nearby ice sculpture surrounded by white and pink lilies.

“I don't even want to think about it.”

“Did you know the silverware is plated in gold?” He looks somewhere between fascinated and disgusted.

“Yeah, I got an _extensive_ email about the place setting choices. Maybe I shouldn't tell you that the table cloths are imported silk.”

Bellamy makes a strangled sort of choking sound. “People are just going to spill food on them!”

Clarke laughs. “So? No one's going to reuse them anyway” she says in an innocent voice.

Bellamy shakes his head, frowning fiercely. “I hate rich people,” he murmurs under his breath.

She hides her smile against his shoulder. “Join the club.”

 

And while nothing about this weekend is anything like what Clarke would plan for herself, there's one perk she can't deny- the iceskating. At the earliest opportunity, Clarke drags Bellamy over to the corner of the tent where ice skates are provided. He digs his heels in a little, when he realizes Clarke's trajectory.

“Really?”

“Yes! This is the best part of this whole thing. You know how to skate, don't you?”

Bellamy looks thoroughly unimpressed. “I grew up in New York. Yes, I know how to skate.”

“That's not a given,” Clarke says over her shoulder as she bundles herself up in a long coat and a scarf. The venue had allowed people to check coats to be brought down to that lake for skating, or borrow ones from the lodge if necessary. Clarke has her own; she'd planned for this.

“You're going to trip over your dress and die,” Bellamy grumbles, but shrugs his coat on as well. Maybe some people would find his attitude to be a downer, but Clarke can't help but find Bellamy's distaste of all things rich and over the top amusing. He's like a kid who's been told he has to finish his spinach before he can have dessert, pouty and offended.

Even Bellamy can't keep the awe off his face once they're out on the lake itself. All around them are the mountains, everything dusted in a layer of snow and lit up by the moonlight. It feels like something out of a dream.

Clarke nudges him with an elbow. “I told you.”

“I still can't believe this is part of _wedding_ ,” Bellamy retorts, but the irritation comes out halfhearted at best. It's begun to snow, light little flakes that catch in the light.

Clarke skates a couple of lazy circles around him, feeling free and entirely uninhibited in the moonlight. “Do you see the best part yet?”

Bellamy turns slowly to keep eye contact with her, eyebrows raised.

“We don't have to talk to any of my mom's guests out here.”

He cracks his first smile since the ceremony, something just short of a laugh. “What if they decide to come skate?” At the moment they're alone, two figures slowly circling each other in the moonlight.

“Might be worth it to see Diana Sydney on ice.”

“Okay,” Bellamy concedes, “you may have a point.”

Clarke cuts out of her path to go to him, arms thrown around his neck with a laugh. It knocks him off balance, but he manages to correct before they both go over, Bellamy spluttering a little about ice skating safety before Clarke kisses him into silence.

When breathing becomes necessary, Clarke draws back, but only a little, still forehead to forehead with him.

“Hey, Bell?”

“Mhm?”

The moment is surreal, and it gives her courage. “I heard you talking to my mom last night and I just thought... I do want to have kids someday. Not soon, obviously, but... I thought you should know.”

Bellamy is quiet, a breath, then two. “You know, you really shouldn't eavesdrop,” he says, but his voice is a little too hoarse for the humor to be convincing, and Clarke can see his smile, a flash of white in the dark.

“I wasn't-” she starts to protest, but he kisses her before she can finish, warm and giddy until his smile is too wide and ruins it.

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke's never been able to explain why she always finds herself exhausted after spending time in her mother's presence. Maybe it's the left over desire to both be herself and be everything that Abby wants from childhood. Maybe it's because there's just so many conflicting emotions there. Maybe it's that Clarke just does not have the energy level of her mother.

Whatever it is, Clarke sleeps all the way home from Canada, curled up in the passenger seat of Bellamy's car and when he finally shakes her awake, she stumbles blearily into their apartment and collapses right onto the bed.

When Clarke wakes up, it's dark out, and she's alone. She wanders out into the living room, spotting Bellamy out on the balcony, legs dangling between the bars, a blanket from the sofa around his shoulders and a mug of steaming tea on the ground next to him. She snags her own blanket and slips out to join him.

“Get a good nap?” he asks, when she settles next to him, her head on his shoulder.

“Yeah.” Clarke snuggles a little closer. “What are you doing out here? It's freezing.”

“Decompressing.” And Clarke can relate to that. It had just been _a lot_ , this whole weekend. He takes her hands in his when she shivers at the cold. His are much warmer, despite having been outside longer. His thumb strokes an absent pattern across the back of her hand, catching on the engagement ring.

“Remind me to give it back to you before I shower tonight.”

Bellamy's hands pause. “Do you... Would you maybe want to keep it? For real this time?”

Clarke's breath catches in her throat. Her stomach twists, disbelief, excitement, nervousness. “Did you just ask me to marry you?”

“I- Not in so many words, I mean I- Yeah.” Bellamy clears his throat. “Yes. If you want to.”

Clarke laughs, all her emotions coalescing into joy.

“Of course I want to,” she squeezes his hand. Bellamy lets a huge breath, shoulders going loose and pliant, and he grins, throwing an arm over her shoulder so he can pull her close and kiss her.

“You couldn't really think I'd say no,” Clarke half tells him half asks when he pulls back.

“Well, no. Not really, but it's just... It's nerve wracking to ask someone to marry you, okay? You try it sometime and see if you do any better!”

“Hey, Bellamy, will you marry me?”

“That,” he says, between stealing kisses, “is _not_ the same thing.” And she's too happy, she can't even bring herself to argue with him for the fun of it.

“You know what this means,” he says against her lips.

“What?”

“Wedding planning.”

Clarke groans. But she thinks she might have changed her mind about planning weddings. She gets to marry Bellamy; it's going to be worth it. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> As requested, here's a little follow up to A Little Bit of Something (God It's Better Than Nothing)! I hope you guys enjoy! I know it's not everything that was requested, and I'm not saying I wouldn't potentially do those things in the future, but this was the follow up idea that just stuck in my head as soon as people started requesting something. Ngl there's not a lot of substance here, it's just fluff, fluff, fluff, so if you wanna pretend the end of the story was back with A Little Bit of Something, feel free. If not, here it is!


End file.
